Chapter 10 Tori
Tori
And now that his heart didn’t feel quite so tight …
~ Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas!
Alyssa calls me first thing in the morning. “I’ve got a favor!”
“Anything for you. What is it?”
“Actually it’s favors. Wedding favors. Could you pick them up?”
“Sure. Just text me the details. Anything else?”
“The favors are at Sylvia’s. If you don’t mind stopping by the bakery to pick up the cake for the dress rehearsal dinner too, I’d be so grateful.”
“No problem. I’ll leave in a minute.”
“No. Not in a minute. Your ride will be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“My ride?”
“Carson asked Gage to pick you up.”
“Alyssa!”
“What? He’s a groomsman. He needs to pitch in. You’re a bridesmaid. Actually, you’ll be walking down the aisle together … not in that way, of course, but you’re partnered in the wedding.”
“I thought I was partnered with Mitch.”
“Yeah. We realigned things.”
“You’re not subtle.”
“I never claimed to be. Thank me later.”
“I’ll do something later. I’m not sure thanking you is it.”
Gage arrives just as promised, fifteen minutes later, holding up a gift bag. “This was on your porch. Looks like it was from your secret Santa.”
I step back so Gage can come inside.
I’m already digging through the bag before he has the door fully shut behind himself.
I love gifts even though receiving them isn’t exactly my love language. I probably have all the love languages. Say something nice to me, spend time with me, give me something, touch me … I’m happy with any of it.
But this? For some reason it feels extra special. Maybe because I’m secretly pretending Gage put this gift together for me.
Whoever my secret Santa is, they did well.
“Chocolate and hot cocoa!” I look up at Gage. “You really can’t ever have enough chocolate in all its forms.”
He smiles calmly. It’s not a full smile, but I’m starting to notice the little ways his face rearranges and softens, and I’m calling that a smile.
“Ooooh. And gourmet marshmallows! Do you want me to make cocoa before we go?”
“I’m good,” he says with another soft glance.
His brow crinkles inward just a bit as if he regrets declining my offer.
“Maybe another time,” I offer.
Is that too forward? I hope not. He invited me to see Toothpick. I can tell him he can have cocoa sometime in the future—with me. Maybe if I drop enough hints, he’ll start to see the opening and maybe … I shake my head lightly and return my attention to the slightly-heavy gift bag.
“A candle.” I open the tin lid to the glass jar and inhale. “Mmmm. Smells just like Christmas.”
I extend the candle in Gage’s direction. His arms are folded across his chest and his brows raise. He tips his head down just the slightest as if he’s going to sniff, but then he glances up at me through his lashes with a look that makes me burst into laughter.
“It’s just a candle, Gage. Smelling it won’t kill you.”
He bends the rest of the way, takes a short sniff, stands straight and nods. “Not bad.”
“It's lovely. That’s what it is. Whenever I smell pine or cinnamon or peppermint or gingerbread, I’m instantly transported back to my childhood and all the Christmases in my parents’ home. You know?”
Gage shakes his head, but the corner of his mouth ticks up just the slightest.
“I know you have sweet Christmas memories,” I challenge him. “Your mom loves the holidays.”
“I do have good memories,” he says plainly. His tone isn’t gruff, just matter-of-fact.
But his eyes say everything his voice and body won’t. He loved Christmases with his family.
I stare into the brown depths and smile.
I see you, Gage. I didn’t. But I do now.
He clears his throat and I return my attention to my present. Tucked along the inside wall of the bag is a large coffee-table edition of The Christmas Carol. I pull it out and set the bag on the side table near my front door.
“Sprayed edges?” I thumb through the pages. Every ten or so there’s an illustration of a scene in the story.
“This is amazing. I love Dickens.”
I set the book on my side table and fish around the bottom of the bag, pulling out the last item. “A fluffy pair of socks.”
“Those look comfy. Not as nice as my Grinch socks.”
I smile and then I quickly cover my joy by asking, “Oh? Did you get socks?”
“Grinch socks,” he says with a wink.
Oh, that wink.
My heart feels like someone jolted it with a defibrillator, beating all fluttery and double-time—over Gage, of all people.
“My secret Santa must be a woman,” I say, deflecting from the blush that’s threatening to rise up my neck and fill my face.
“What makes you say that?” Gage asks.
“No man I know could come up with something so thoughtful.”
“Wow. There might be some men out there capable of this level of thoughtfulness. You’re being surprisingly cynical for someone so prone to rose-colored glasses.”
“I can be cynical,” I insist.
“Can you now?”
“Sure. The other day I wondered if the trash men retired, would there be anyone in the next generation who would take their jobs.”
He chuckles. “Yep. That’s dark. Maudlin.”
My laughter follows his.
“Well, we’d better get going,” Gage says with another crinkle of his brow.
“Of course,” I agree. “Let me just grab my coat.”
I dash through my apartment, grabbing my coat and boots, Gage stands in the doorway, patiently waiting. When I approach him, he holds the door open for me and I pass by, stepping onto the porch.
Forget the candle, Gage smells cozy, warm, masculine. Candlemakers around the world, take note! You need this scent. I’d burn it twenty-four, seven.
I will myself not to inhale too heavily.
Do not look up. Eye contact would not be good. He’ll read you like a book.
My brain must function like a computer. I can’t process the negative. All I hear myself think is look up, look up, look up, so I do.
I’m inches away from Gage’s face, close enough to see the stubble barely dusting his jawline even though it’s only mid-day.
My eyes travel over his full lips, across the ruddy hue of his cheeks, finally landing on his eyes—soft, brown, framed in unfairly full lashes.
My cheeks heat. I stare into Gage’s eyes. I should look away.
He’s close enough that the warmth of his breath fans across my face.
Weeks ago, I would have called his expression neutral or stoic.
It’s anything but.
Gage’s eyes rove around my face and land back on mine where he holds my gaze with a look that’s something between curiosity and … interest? Friendliness? I can’t tell.
He clears his throat. “Favors or cake first?”
“What?” I blurt, looking down at my feet and then back up at him.
I step backward and nearly trip. His hand darts out to cup my elbow and steady me.
“Uh,” I say, still at a loss for words. “What was the question?”
Gage chuckles the slightest bit and the side of his mouth tips up into a grin anyone would call a half-smile.
I did that. I made him laugh—and smile.
“The question was, favors or cake first?” he repeats.
I turn to walk down the porch steps. I need oxygen and space. What is going on?
Gage walks behind me toward his car. I feel his nearness even though he’s a few paces behind me. He opens my door and I hop in, closing my eyes to avoid another bout of unexpected intimacy.
“Favors first,” I finally say. “We need to grab the cake at the last possible moment so it stays chilled.”
“It is winter,” he reminds me.
“Right. Well. Favors first.”
We drive through town to the home of a woman who’s known for her homemade Goo Goo clusters. They’re a Tennessee favorite.
“I’ll run up and grab them,” I offer when Gage pulls into Sylvia’s driveway.
“Two hundred Goo Goo clusters?” he asks.
His eyes are playful for a moment and then he schools his features.
“Right. Maybe you ought to help.”
Without a word, Gage gets out of the car.
And before I can stop him, he’s opening my door for me.
I like it—the way he thinks of me enough to stop and hold a door.
I know there are people who say men shouldn’t hold doors for women anymore.
And that’s fine by me. They can open their own doors all day long.
As for me, I’m trying to think of the next door I’ll come to when Gage is around.
I pass Gage, inhaling quietly, privately, as he’s shutting my door. Yeah. I like him. It’s official. I’ve never intentionally tried to sneak in just one more whiff of someone before.
He’s unaware, and more than likely uninterested. He seems shut off to romance. That’s what Noelle said. He’s grumpy over a woman. Red flag, Tori. Big red flag.
I take a breath. Leave it to me to see the soft side in a grump and end up inhaling him like he’s a scratch and sniff sticker. I like him.
Why couldn’t I like Mitch? Don’t answer that. I get it. He’s Mitch. Gage is different. He’s like the softest blanket, the strongest security door, and a beautiful box holding a present you can’t wait to unwrap. Ugh. I really like him.
Gage’s strong, deep voice draws me out of my thoughts. “How’s the list coming along?”
“The list?”
“The holiday list on your fridge?”
“It’s … coming … ” I glance back over my shoulder at Gage and our eyes meet.
“Did you finish all of the items?” he asks.
“I’ve still got a few left. Some I don’t want to do alone.”
“Hmmm.” Gage’s voice rumbles low enough that I feel it more than hear it.
He doesn’t say anything else. My mind scans my holiday bucket list. I haven’t watched all my favorite Christmas movies yet …
and I definitely haven’t kissed anyone under the mistletoe.
I don’t know why I even wrote that on there.
It was more of a whim at the time. I certainly didn’t think Gage and Mitch would end up in my kitchen reading my list.
And I just said I can’t do it alone! Does he think I’m insinuating he should help me?
Images of Gage standing under the mistletoe fill my head.
He’s staring down at me, brushing a strand of hair off my face and tucking it behind my ear.
He smiles. And I melt. Then he leans in toward me, and his lips …
The abrupt rap of Gage’s knuckles on Sylvia’s door snaps me back into my non-mistletoe reality.
Sylvia answers and hands each of us a box filled with homemade Goo Goo Clusters. She carries the third box and we load them all into the trunk of Gage’s car.
Next we drive to Baker From Another Mother to pick up the rehearsal dinner cake.
“Are you hungry?” Gage asks me when we’re buckled in and ready to drive away.
As if on cue, my stomach growls. I don’t know if Gage hears it or not.
“I could eat,” I say casually.
“Me too,” he says with a soft nod. “What would you like?”
I glance over at him. He’s got both hands on the wheel.
“I’m not very decisive,” I say, trying to hide the note of apology in my voice, but failing.
“Well, as long as you’re open to options,” he says, with his brows raised in question. “I’m good being the one to decide.”
“I’d like that.”
“I hope you don’t mind Judy’s.”
“I love Judy’s!” I say with far too much enthusiasm for the small space.
I do love Judy’s. It’s an old-school diner with American food that probably could give you a heart attack if you ate there for every meal. Who knows. Some of the older customers are regulars and they seem to be doing just fine.
“Judy’s it is,” Gage says with a shy smile in my direction.
Is he really completely closed off to romance?
Those glances he sends me, the way he smiles and it seems like I drew it out?
I don’t know what all that means. Am I foolish to think it could mean something?
And we’re finished with our errands. He could have easily dropped me off at my home and gotten his own lunch.
Instead he asked if I was hungry. Hmmm …
Gage drums his fingers on the steering wheel, looking perfectly at ease and oblivious to my internal does he, doesn’t he dilemma.
We drop the favors and the cake at the church, leaving the custodian the boxes, and head for Judy’s.
The car is warm when we climb back in, and Gage turns on the radio.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t change the channel when a Christmas song comes on.
It’s ridiculous how the almost non-existent grin on his face makes me want to reach across the console to hold his hand.
He’d probably be so shocked he’d swerve and land us in a ditch.
I keep my hands to myself and we make it to Judy’s without any roadside mishaps. I order a patty melt with frings (onion rings and fries mixed together) and Gage orders a Waterford burger with fried pickles.
“Fried pickles?” I scrunch my nose.
“Have you tried them?”
“No.”
“Do you like pickles?”
“Yes. But just because you like something does not mean you should fry it.”
“Trust me,” he says, mouth tipping. “I know what to do with something I like.”
Gage chuckles and this time he really smiles. He’s leaned back against the red vinyl booth with his arms spread out to both sides. Dimples form in his cheeks.
I almost blurt, You’ve got dimples! Thankfully, the waitress comes with our shake.
Yes. Our shake. I said I wanted one, but didn’t want to ruin my appetite, and Gage suggested we split one. Is that romantic? It most definitely is to me. I just don’t know what it is to him. Maybe just a practical way to leave room for our meals.
“What’s the rest of your day looking like?” Gage asks casually.
“I have to pick up a book I ordered at Moss and Maple.”
“Want me to take you?” His offer is instantaneous and easy.
I study him for a moment. “You don’t have to. Don’t you have other things to do?”
“Not much. I already had a flying lesson this morning. I was going to take Toothpick on a hike later. Then I’ll get ready for the rehearsal dinner after that.”
“There are some great trails by the bookshop,” I offer, trying to match his seemingly casual tone.
Are we actually considering spending more time together? Just the two of us? We have never done this before. We usually only see one another when our friends gather together.
“Want to kill two birds with one stone?” Gage asks with what I can only call a smile in his voice.
Want to? Do I want to spend the afternoon picking up my long-awaited book at my favorite bookshop and then taking Toothpick on a hike with Gage? Um. Yes. That would be one-hundred percent yes.
“Pick up my book and go on a hike?” I ask, just to be sure I’m not imagining the invitation.
“That’s what I meant, yes.”
“I’d actually love to.”
“Careful …” he warns playfully. “I might get the impression you want to spend time with me.”
“What if I did want to. Would that be so awful?”
“Not at all. It would …” He pauses, looking into my eyes with an expression I’m pretty sure I’ll be revisiting in my dreams.
Gage visibly swallows. Is he nervous? Hesitant?
His voice is warm when he adds, “That would actually be great.”